Mindful of Memories and Time

My granddaughter, the youngest of four with which

life and good fortune have bestowed upon me, turned

fifteen years old a few days ago.

I am mindful of the progressive stages of aging those

of us fortunate enough to make it so far in life must

inevitably go through.

Mind is still moderately operational, albeit forgetful

at times. Body, though, with its nagging aches and

pains lets me know, man, you’re growing old.

Fifteen, oh, a fog hangs ominously over my mem-

ories of way back then. One tends to accumulate dust

and cobwebs in seventy-some years.

I’m tempted to ask my granddaughter what it feels like

to be fifteen. But then I realize that sounds like a stupid

old-man thing to ask.

First of all, she’s a girl, I’m a boy, and biologically we

experience things differently. Besides, the times have

changed drastically between her fifteen lifetime and mine.

Alas, I’ ll stick with my own memories over-ripened by

time. Sugar has turned this plumb into a prune. It’s the

last stage a fruit can go through, you know, as wrinkles

and a certain souring of attitude grow over me to remind.

I’d be willing to bet, though, that granddaughter at fifteen

never gave a second thought to the invention of the wheel.

Chris Hanch 10-12-18